White Wine
by Beckon
Summary: Fingertips touched at the scars that stained the white wine skin.


**A/N: I wish I could explain or defend this piece but not entirely sure how to go about that. It's a little idea that popped into my head and I got the title for it later on but decided to kind of tie it all in together last minute. It's one of those 'could've portrayed it differently' type deals but for some reason I was more drawn to this approach instead. I don't think anyone's going to have a problem with it but just in case someone does, I can't really help that. If the topic doesn't suit you, I'm sorry but it was one of those spur of the moment deals and this couple fit perfectly for it in my head. **

_His skin always reminded her of white wine._

_Sometimes, when she was deeply entangled with him; their bodies to the point of simply blending in together in the mask of darkness; fingers tangled in those ebony strands of his as fingertips coursed and soothed the tense muscles of her back; his lips seemed to tease and tempt the blood flow beneath her flesh to intensify the short moments they had to share with one another; sometimes when they were that enclosed… his scent was that of white wine. _

She slowly gave the room to herself as she moved to close the space between them; her eyes taking in the weak position he had put himself in. A colorless shirt dressed his upper body in small folds and wrinkles as the fabric did little to embrace the body that she would've loved to have embraced herself; the long-sleeves and open collar almost seemed to fuel her jealousy of the clothing; why should an inanimate piece be able to stay closer to him when she couldn't? The zipper in the front had been pulled down a few inches to reveal those deep collarbones and reveal even more of that alcoholic flesh of his. It was almost as if, if she took too long of a look or extended the time of a stare, it was just as equivalent to getting drunk off a glass or two.

He always said that he hated buttons.

She didn't know why but she didn't push the subject; after all, zippers were far easier to dismantle.

He was looking in the other direction by the time she reached the empty seat next to him; the coffee-brown, leather couch was naturally wrinkled but seemed to triple in folds the moment she seated herself next to him. Eyes took note of the unopened bottle of wine on the table just a foot or two short from them; two empty wineglasses served as it's companions.

"You wanted to talk about weaknesses…"

She watched as those merciful eyes of his turned away from their previous interest and locked onto her own. Carefully stretching her legs out for a moment, she tucked one over another and moved her hands to smooth out the wrinkles in her dress. "I believe my words were I wanted to talk about you."

"It's one in the same at the moment."

"Talk to me."

"You always expressed a need to get to know me more."

A light chuckled escaped her lips as she leaned forward and gently rested her head on the curve of his shoulder; fingertips toying with the soft folds and creases of his jeans. "I know every inch of you on the outside; every piece of skin and every strand of hair. But you act like a one-way window sometimes; I get to look out but I don't get to look in. Who knows what goes on in that little head of yours."

"If I could give you a simple answer, I would." he started; fingertips tracing the curve of her skirt from where her thigh pressed back against the fabric. "Unfortunately, it's not that easy."

"Since when was I in it for the simplicity." she whispered; fingers moved to curve along the shape of his jawline before she pulled him through the few inches between them. The arc of her lips touched at the sensitive flesh just along the upward curve of his neck. "Show me what you want to show me…"

A brief chuckle left him as though he found the answer to her remark slightly humorous. "You say you know every piece of skin… do you know every scar too?"

"Just the ones you let me see."

"Do you want to see the others?"

She toyed with his offer; running the question back and forth across her mind till it had killed its traction against her hesitation. "When you present them in this kind of staging, it makes me think they mean something more than just… replacement tissue."

"Fibrous tissue."

"What?"

"That's what it's called; the scar tissue." he explained.

"Last time I checked, I didn't come over to get a medical lesson." she started; brushing her fingertips through his hair as she tucked it away from his face. "I want to see them; all of them."

He waited for her answer and took a moment before he followed through with it. She watched as those careful fingers slowly began to push up the sleeve over his left forearm; there were small nicks and faint scuffles from previous battles but nothing too terribly tainting.

"I know this one." she whispered as she touched at the fairly recognizable scar about halfway up his forearm. The entire thing encircled his arm and served as a constant reminder of the temporary loss of the limb below that mark. She could feel the rather gritty texture of the tissue and how it came in stark contrast to the rest of his flesh. "Not necessarily my favorite one but I admire all of them; I find them attractive after all."

"What about these ones?" he questioned as he turned his forearm over in her touch.

"…Tell me about them…"

"They were from a long time ago… I was just- I was really stressed out and everything felt like it was going wrong; I just… I cracked. I couldn't handle the stress back then- I wasn't strong enough… I regret those decisions because I could… I could handle it now but for those years, I just let it slip. They remind me of that weakness I had and I hate it."

She listened to the words that he seemingly forced himself to say; his tone was a mix between disgust and guilt. He felt as though he had taken the easy way out and despised himself for not being strong; for not fighting harder.

Fingertips lightly touched at the pale scars that littered down his forearm; each scar was carefully spaced between one another and followed the curve of his arm. She had once prided herself with knowing how well she knew his body and yet… these scars had completely been looked over. They were faded though and had almost merged well with his flesh; even to the touch there was minimal difference between the two tissue types. It was almost… painful to see but after hearing those words, she couldn't bring herself to blame him; they all had their weak moments, it wasn't something to be ashamed of.

"We've all done some things we're not proud of but these aren't a sign of weakness; these should be treated as a sign of strength- the strength it took to overcome that weakness."

"You're not the first person to tell me that but for once, I want to believe you."

Purple eyes watched as he seemed to be absent-mindedly putting himself back through the past; recalling every single moment and every single scar again and again. She reached over and lightly hooked her fingers against the opposite jawline as she pulled him in towards her once more; her lips lightly brushing against the corner of his own. "Let me show you something…"

Hands took hold of the fabric that dressed him as she pulled him away from the couch and against her; drawing their two bodies away from the furniture, she lead him down along the narrowing passages that carved out corridors. This home belonged to him and yet she felt it was hers just the same. There were things that were said here, shared here and given here that provided them with the concrete string that seemed to sew their two essences together. He followed her effortlessly without question as though he was just in it for the feel of her hand in his own; just the feel of some kind of contact that could pull him back into the unstoppable twist of reality.

Behind closed doors it was just them.

It was her body eager to give into the intoxication that was his flesh; it was her temptation melting and giving in to the cooling depth of his embrace.

It was scars pressed against scars as she felt the way fingertips lightly touched and traced at her own; this game had been played many times before but it was still new with every session. He touched with a sense of care and appreciation; she touched back with understanding and the need to know everything.

It was greed; it was weakness to give into such an addiction.

But when the morning light blinked in through the blinds and showered the disheveled bed with its all-knowing warmth… it was just another day. She watched the soft way he breathed in his sleep; watching for every movement of muscle and skin as the contours of his back adjusted with every smooth inhale.

Fingertips touched at the scars that stained the white wine skin.


End file.
